


Rhymes With...

by PrettyMessedUpSituation (MarcelinesNightosphere)



Series: Drabbles and Ficlets from Prompts [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Attraction, Bisexual Castiel, Bisexual Dean, Bottom Dean, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Flirting, M/M, POV Castiel, Tattoo Artist Castiel, Tattooed Dean, introvert Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelinesNightosphere/pseuds/PrettyMessedUpSituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:<br/>“You can’t get tattooed drunk, come back in the morning and if you still want my name on your ass we’ll talk.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetasscas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetasscas/gifts).



> Prompt given by [sweetasscas](http://www.sweetasscas.tumblr.com).  
> Rebloggable version [here](http://www.prettymessedupsituation.tumblr.com/post/122820365463/rhymes-with).  
> Because I've been demanded to do so, I will be doing a follow up.

Slow nights were rare. It was great to have a shop that had a steady clientele with wall to wall appointments booked nearly every day, but those moments of quiet were nice too. Rather than spending his time prepping or cleaning up his station, working on the design for the next customer, or working on his schedule, Cas could draw. He loved that bit of free time at work. Everyone else had gone home with it being late on a Saturday, and Cas was just hanging out until he had to close up. He was an hour into a drawing of a bleeding heart that he was going to ink when a raucous group of voices outside broke his concentration. Three big guys knocked into each other outside, and one ran into the parking meter on the sidewalk. The broadest of the three sat down on a bench followed by the tallest. The one that ran into the meter was laughing and looked into the shop, seeing Cas sitting at the desk. He waved.

Cas waved back cautiously. They must be drunk.

There was conversation that Cas couldn’t hear, just the murmur of their deep voices on the other side of the glass. He tried to return to his work, but his eyes kept drifting up to the guy who had waved at him. Scruffy beard, some tattoos, and pretty hot. The guy looked up and caught Cas looking at him. Cas’s stomach tightened.

“Shit,” he whispered.

The guy opened the door and walked in, bowlegs sauntering up to the desk with an alcohol-laden waver. He leaned over the counter and looked at what Cas was working on.

“That’s pretty amazing. You own the place?” he asked.

Cas laughed. “No. I wish. I am just a lowly artist who has the luck of closing on a Saturday night.”

“I doubt you’re a lowly anything.”

“Having fun tonight with your friends?” Cas asked, trying to deflect from the drunken attempt at flirtation.

“Yeah. That goofy lookin’ fuck is my brother, Sam. The other guy is a dude from work, Benny. You mind if I look at your work?”

Cas stood and went to his work station. He pulled out his portfolio and slid it onto the countertop, opening it to the first page. “I do anatomy a lot and whenever people come in wanting something with a lot of geometrics like mandalas, or dots which everyone else here hates, they get thrown to me.”

“Your work is really great. Like. Amazing.”

“Thanks.” Cas stood for a moment, eyes locked onto this guy.

Freckles. There were a lot of freckles. Long eyelashes. Beautiful eyes. The reddish brown beard and his round cheeks were just too much. He had to pull himself back, remind himself he was working. He had to be professional.

“I don’t wanna be presumptuous man, but, you seeing anybody?”

“No,” Cas answered. He must have made a face, because the guy started apologizing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you were…into…anyway. Wow. Now I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. I mean you ran into a parking meter the first time I saw you, so….”

He hung his head. “Aw, you saw that?” He looked at Cas through his eyelashes.

This was entirely unfair.

“Yeah, but who hasn’t ran into one of those?”

“I want you to tattoo me.”

“Um…I can’t,” Cas said. “It’s illegal. Obviously, you’ve been drinking, and I can’t work on you. You can’t be drunk and get a tattoo.”

“Well I’d like you to work on me.” He winked.

This was  _impossibly_  unfair.

Cas collected himself. “I can’t tonight, but maybe we can talk about what you want sometime and schedule you an appointment.”

The guy leaned in, close enough for Cas to smell his cologne over the light scent of alcohol. “What if I told you I want your name tattooed on my ass?”

Cas exploded with laughter. “You don’t even know my name!”

“I don’t care if it’s Fergus. I want your name. On. My ass. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re gonna own it.”

“Okay! Well, I think I should return you to your brother now. They look like they’re ready to get moving anyway.”

“But seriously, I want you to work on me.”

“We can do that,” Cas said, “but when you’re sober. Come see me tomorrow. And if you still want my name on your ass, we’ll talk.” Cas went around to the front counter and grabbed a shop card. He scrawled his name and number on the card and tucked it into the guy’s pocket.

“Hey what’s your name?” he asked.

“Cas. Yours?”

“I’m Dean. Hey, Cas, you know what your name rhymes with?” Dean asked with a big grin.

Cas shoved him out the door. “Tomorrow. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”


	2. Return of the Mack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it was demanded, a second chapter. Which will definitely lead to a third, and then who knows?  
> You only have yourselves to blame for this one. :)

Cas finished up his one o’clock appointment. The girl looked in the mirror at her new tattoo, a fox heavily consisting of what appeared to be swirled calligraphy-like strokes and dots trailing up the back of her arm to her shoulder. He was proud of it, and actually enjoyed coming up with new ways to do foxes, owls, and other creatures that leant their visage to creative tattooing. She squealed and had her friend take a picture. Cas bandaged her up and gave her care instructions before sending her to the front desk where Casey would take care of the transaction. While they were busy at the counter practically bouncing over their tattoo high, Cas cleaned up his station. He had a twenty minute break before his next appointment, a one hour block that was only realistically going to take him half an hour at most. It was just a touch up to a piece he’d done two weeks before, a final polish for color and lines. He waved as the girls left, his station already prepped except for ink.

“Hey. How can I help you?” Casey purred when someone walked in.

“I’m here to see Cas,” the gruff voice answered, confident. “But if things don’t go as planned, I’d be more than thrilled to talk to you later.”

Casey just laughed and walked to the back of the studio to make some copies of someone’s ID.

Ruby paused tattooing her client. “Cas, you have a visitor,” she said without looking up. “Who sounds like he could be taken down a few notches,” she grumbled under her breath.

Cas caught it and stood up, speaking quickly in case Dean had heard her. “Well, her name is Casey so if you get her name tattooed on your ass it won’t be too much of a stretch,” Cas said, playing off of Dean’s bravado. He met Dean at the counter and leaned over with his forearms resting on the wood surface, his shoulders squaring to face Dean. He clasped his hands together in front of him, letting a warm smile bring Dean to blush.

“Yeah, about that,” Dean started, rapping his knuckles on the counter.

“You still want my name on you, right? Because I’m gonna own it?” Cas’s eyes drifted down Dean’s solid body. The brave front he wore fell apart, now shifting his body shyly as his cheeks grew rosy, embarrassed at his drunken flirtations the night before.

Ruby looked up from her station, a sideways grin curling on her lips as she listened to the conversation. Casey passed by her and gave a low-key air high-five.  

“I’m just messing with you,” Cas said, staring into Dean’s eyes to reassure him. “What can I do for you?”

Dean tripped over his words, scratching his beard before speaking softly. “I, uh, I would still like you to work on me, if you’d want to, just maybe...maybe not your name on my ass.” He let out a self-depreciating laugh.

Cas grinned. This was the real Dean. This guy he liked. “Do you have anything in particular you’d be interested in?”

“I have a few blank spots,” Dean replied, “but I’d like to look at your work some more, see if anything clicks.”

“Not a problem.” Cas looked toward the door as his appointment came in. “I’ll be free in like, forty-five minutes or so. You can hang around if you want.”

Dean nodded. “If it’s okay, yeah, I’d like that.”

Cas lifted his portfolio out from behind the counter and handed it to Dean, trying not to get lost in his gaze. He took his client back to his chair. He had a sleeve, part of which featured a fresh compass rose and what looked like a curled map and ink, longitude and latitude lines drawing up under his shirt. He took off his shirt and settled in for Cas to work on him.

After ten minutes, Cas noticed Dean trying not to watch the touchups of color and re-inking of lines, tipping his eyes up over the pages of the portfolio, his creased forehead from the slight rise of his eyebrows giving him away. He hoped he wasn’t more interested in the shirtless guy in the chair, but Cas had a good feeling about him.

“Anything click for you?” he asked Dean when the machine sputtered to a stop after being flushed with water in a plastic cup next to Cas’s arm. He started clean up while he waited for an answer.

“I have a few ideas I’d like to knock around with you if you have the time.”

“Give me ten and I’m all yours,” Cas said, wiping down the guy’s arm.

Dean cleared his throat. “Is that so?”

“Promise.”

 

Cas tossed the rest of his paper towels into the trash and took off his gloves, the lid of the can snapping shut when he released the foot pedal. He looked up to see Casey leaning against the counter on his side of the shop.

“So tell me again, who is the handsome bearded fella who needs slapped?” Casey asked.

“Dean,” Cas said. “He came in drunk last night, flirting and asking if I would tattoo my name on his ass.”

Casey’s eyebrows arched in amusement.

“He does emit a lot of machismo, but I think it’s mostly a show.”

Casey stared outside at Dean who was leaning against the brick facade of the building, watching cars and people pass by. “He's good looking. I like his beard.”

“Okay, Kesha.” Ruby had paused to let her client take a restroom break and joined Casey in interrogating Cas. “So where are you headed?”

“I don’t know. He says he wants me to work on him, but I don’t know if it’s just a ploy to get a date, or if he’s actually interested in my work.”

“What’s wrong with both?” Ruby said. Cas’s eyes fell, that tug of self-doubt edging out his optimism. Ruby punched his arm. “Hey, don’t sell yourself short on either account. You’re a great artist and an awesome, attractive person.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Plus he’s already made an ass out of himself, so you have the upper hand,” Casey pointed out.

“True,” Ruby said, pointing her finger at Casey in agreement, “and you should most _definitely_ use that to your advantage.” Her customer returned from the washroom and she playfully tugged at Cas’s scruff. “Duty calls. Go have fun. And tell us if he turns out to be an ass so we can plot revenge for wasting your time.”

Casey patted him on the shoulder and went back to her desk, leaving Cas to head outside to face Dean. He hated how nervous he felt. It gave him some consolation watching Dean spin a ring on his finger in a continuous circle, looking just as anxious as Cas felt. With a deep breath, he pulled the door open. In a few sidesteps with his hands shoved into his pockets, he slid closer and was standing next to Dean, both facing the street. Neither said anything for a minute, the silence dragging on and knotting up Cas’s stomach.

“How long until you have to be back?” Dean asked, still not looking over at Cas.

“Six.”

Dean looked at his watch. “This may sound weird, but...you wanna go to my place?”


	3. Four Hours

The three blocks to Dean’s apartment were filled with small talk, the kind that feels hollow and almost forced. It was as if they couldn’t speak openly – as if someone might hear their intimate conversation, so they had to speak about unimportant topics until they were left alone. They kept the subjects simple and obvious, sticking to the kinds of questions you ask someone at a party that you’re only just-barely even acknowledging their presence: The weather was great lately. With summer in full swing, the college crowd had thinned out substantially, so things were quieter around that part of town which was nice. Gas prices were atrocious. It was great living close enough to everything that Cas could walk to work. Dean’s car ate up a lot of gas, so she was used only when necessary now that he moved into his new apartment. When they arrived at the door, they could have shaken hands and parted ways right there, never to speak to each other again. Instead, Dean unlocked the door and pushed in, holding it open for Cas as he started up the narrow stairs.

At the top of the stairs there was an apartment in front of them and a door off to the right where Dean was standing. He unlocked his apartment and invited Cas in. The apartment was small but typical of bachelor life. A futon served as additional seating to the couch sitting in the living room and apparently was doubling as his brother’s bed for the time being. A large flat screen television was attached to the wall and video game consoles took up the space on a table beneath. The small dining table was nestled into a nook with a few boxes of pizza stacked atop of it. The refrigerator in the adjoined kitchen hummed in time with the wall unit air conditioner on the opposite side of the room. Cas followed Dean to the small hall just past the dining table.

“Bathroom’s there,” Dean said pointing to a door in front of them, “and my room is here.”

Dean opened the door for his room. The bed was neatly made. A two-person table and chairs sat by the window flanked by short bookcases that were filled, books sticking out and shoved in however they would fit. Stacks of used books towered on the nightstand and the shelves, the only things that could be considered cluttered. Book clutter was the kind of clutter Cas understood and could commiserate with.

Dean moved toward a mini-fridge sitting next to the closet. “You want a beer? Water?”

“Water’s fine.”

“So we have four hours til you have to be back at work, right?” Dean asked, taking a seat at the table. Cas followed suit.

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s not waste any more of your time.”

_Three hours and forty two minutes_

Cas learned that Dean was a mechanic. His friend Benny from the night before worked with him. He lived with his brother Sam, who was going to school. They had been celebrating another semester of Sam being on the Dean’s list, which had become a loving joke between the brothers. Dean learned that Cas worked six days a week at the studio with flexible hours. He was alone, living in a tiny apartment a block east of the shop. Casey and Ruby were good friends of his, which was a benefit since they were direct while he usually avoided confrontation. Dean said that _direct_ wasn’t the right word for those two from his short experience; he called them _feisty_. Cas countered with _spirited_. Dean was 28, Cas was 30. High school sucked. Dean didn’t do so great at college, Cas got his BA in Art and had taken business classes, but never felt the need to get his Master’s. Dean liked rock music with great guitar and Cas enjoyed any music with poetic lyrics that spoke to the listener. They both wish they had got to travel and see more places than they had – not just pass through. They both loved food. Dean asked if Cas been to the pub that opened up on Moro Street because the burgers were great, the kitchen was open until 11, and the live bands on Friday nights were usually pretty decent. Cas hadn’t, and Dean said he’d take him sometime.

The distant and impersonal feeling that existed when they were walking was gone the moment the door closed behind them. Cas was so enveloped in Dean’s words, watching his lips move as he spoke passionately about taking things apart and putting them back together, catching the glint of happiness and pride in his eyes when he talked about Sam, noticing the way he twirled that ring nervously on his finger during lulls in conversation. Dean listened with intensity that was almost overwhelming, his eyes locked onto Cas as if his boring life somehow held secrets Dean would need one day to save the world.

_Two hours and thirty seven minutes_

Dean was stretched out on his bed. Cas still sat in the chair, debating on whether or not he would join him. Staring at the ceiling, Dean talked about how he hoped to one day own the shop he was working at. Cas knew the feeling. Chuck was great – the best boss he could have asked for creatively, letting them fix their own schedules and work on projects on the clock if time allowed – but he was absent. Cas stared at Dean, wondering what his smooth line would be to get him to join him in bed, if he would turn on that charm to try to win him over even though Cas had now seen a more vulnerable and honest side to him.

“I’ve really enjoyed this conversation, Dean,” he said.

Dean tipped his head toward him. “Really?”

“Very much.”

“So that’s not code for _and now I have to leave_?”

“Not at all.” Cas looked at his watch. “I have two hours and six minutes until I have to be back.”

“Holy shit. We’ve been talking for a while huh? Not that I’m complaining. At all.”

Cas stood and finished his water, screwing the lid a little too tight onto the bottle. He stood for a moment, debating his options; in the end, he wasn’t going to wait for Dean to try to make a move. They could continue talking like this for a few more hours, but Cas’s curiosity was getting the best of him. He set the bottle o the table and took off his shoes, and slid onto the open side of Dean’s bed as if he belonged there. Dean’s bed smelled lightly of his cologne and was surprisingly comfortable. Cas wondered if Dean had spritzed his bed just in case he agreed to come over to ensure it smelled nice. He propped his head up and kept the conversation going, as if lying next to Dean in his bed was the most normal and casual thing to do on a first meeting.

“Tell me about your car.”

Dean turned to face Cas, mirroring his position. He described his car: the purr of her engine that he rebuilt a few years prior, her sleek body lines, her black paint, substantial trunk, and monstrous but gorgeous look. “She’s a beast. She’s perfect,” he said.

Cas watched Dean’s eyes fall to the bed. Dean started to pull at the comforter, rolling and pinching the fabric in his fingers. He seemed so comfortable talking or listening to Cas, but silences were overwhelming. Bursts of confidence seemed to be just that – brief moments that faded, returning him to the introverted person he truly was.  

_One hour and fifty eight minutes_

Cas kissed him.

A quick hum of surprise vibrated in Dean’s throat before he settled into the kiss. Cas’s lips moved with grace as if trying to not scare Dean away. Dean touched the side of Cas’s face, his weight shifting toward him until their chests were pressed against each other. The slow movements drew Dean in, and after some time Cas felt Dean’s heart stop pounding so hard, assuming a calm and steady beat. Dean pressed himself against Cas and followed with a low moan that seemed involuntary because he blushed. Cas smiled through the next few kisses, feeling Dean against him, wondering how far he should take it before he hit pause.

_One hour and forty six minutes_

Dean’s hand drifted along the outside of Cas’s jeans as their mouths worked together. Cas let him unbutton his jeans and unzip him. He was pretty sure he couldn’t reach the pause button if he tried.

_One hour and twenty nine minutes_

Cas used slight pressure as he ran his hand down Dean’s back and up again, making a note to himself to give him a massage one day. His skin was pliable yet muscled, a great combination for kneading. He imagined one day after a long day at work Dean becoming a babbling idiot at the touch of his skilled hands. Not unlike now. His hips rolled forward and Dean rocked back, both in an unhurried measure. It was smooth, easy. Cas couldn’t remember feeling this comfortable with anyone.

_One hour and seventeen minutes_

Cas came back in from the bathroom and found Dean lying face-down on his bed, both arms shoved up under a pillow, curling it toward his face. His breathing was like meditation, deep breath in and deep breath out. Cas looked around the unfamiliar room and saw a black permanent marker on his nightstand on top of a book. He picked it up and crawled onto the bed, straddling Dean’s still exposed backside.

Dean’s head turned at the sound of the marker being uncapped.

“What are you doing?”  

Cas flattened Dean’s ass cheek out with his hand and scribbled **_CAS_** in two-inch letters. “Just marking my territory.” He leaned down and blew on the fresh ink.

“You did _not_ just do what I think you did.” Dean flipped himself over quickly, catching Cas’s thighs before he fell over.

Cas laughed. “Now you might have smeared it.”

Dean smiled and moved his hips under Cas in a grinding motion as he settled onto the bed. “So I’m yours now?”

Cas smirked. “Well, I _did_ own it.”

“You gonna own it again sometime?” Dean raised his eyebrows in quick succession, his hands rubbing up and down Cas’s thighs.

Cas looked at his watch. “I’m due back in a little more than an hour, so…how about I buy you dinner first?”

“How about I buy you dinner and you call me tonight when you get off work? You can bring a midnight snack.”

Thinking about it, Cas tilted his head to the side. “Donuts or greasy truck food?”

Dean smiled and “Both. Might be a long night.”

“I like you, Dean.”

“I like you too…what was your name? Tracy? Casey?” Dean teased.

“Why don’t you check your ass, you ass.”

 


End file.
